


I'm a pro at imperfections

by GreyishBlue



Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Bucky Barnes Is a Good Bro, Comfort, Everyone Lives In The Tower and Nothing Bad Happened Ever, Getting Together, Jarvis is always a good bro, M/M, Self-Indulgent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-10
Updated: 2019-08-10
Packaged: 2020-08-14 02:48:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20184988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreyishBlue/pseuds/GreyishBlue
Summary: Clint has a cold and finds care-packages left at his door.Written for Winterhawk Bingo 2019 Square: Good Cook Bucky





	I'm a pro at imperfections

**Author's Note:**

> Title from 21 Pilots - The Judge

Clint hated getting sick. Another long op spent holding his body still in temperatures that were unfairly chilly, all for nothing when the base had turned out to be abandoned. Clint also hated inefficient outdated intel. And being shivery under his blankets, somehow also coated in stale feeling sweat. And especially the way his entire head felt plugged up, the dull throb behind his eyes like a beat to the song of his misery. 

He hummed a tune to himself, somewhat toneless because there’s no way he was bothering with his aids right now. The lyrics were mainly a truly brilliant amount of uses of cuss words interspersed with sniffles and the occasional cough. He had managed to just barely keep himself functioning for the last few days. Most of it spent sleeping out on the living room couch of his apartment in the tower and dragging his uncooperative body to the kitchen for refills of his quickly-dwindling store of coffee and slightly stale toast. As much as going home to Bed-Stuy would have been comforting, trying to get there by himself feeling this way just wasn’t going to happen.

The lights above him cycled gently through a few colors that Jarvis used to grab his attention. He squinted up toward the spot he usually liked to look when addressing the AI.

“Sup, Jarvis?” His voice came out scratchy and dry from lack of use, punctuated with another cough.

A message appeared nearby on a panel of the wall closest to Clint. 

-A package has been left at your door. As the product appears perishable, I felt it necessary to advise you to collect it at your earliest convenience.-

Clint snorted lightly at the formal tone; he knew Jarvis was often much more personable vocally, but somehow that trait hadn’t quite transferred over to his written correspondence. He hauled himself up from his blanket burrito on the couch with a groan, shuffled over to the front door. It occurred to him to wonder who would be leaving him packages at.. 10pm, according to the cracked face of the watch on his wrist. With a shrug he opened the door regardless, he doubted Jarvis would have been so lax as to send him out for a package that might be dangerous.

At his feet sat a lidded tupperware container wrapped in a small flower print towel, the ends folded at the top in a sloppy bow. Clint huffed a little sound in surprise and picked it up to take inside, already enjoying the warmth seeping into his hands from the container. He worked the towel’s knot loose and opened it to the very very welcome sight of what appeared to be homemade chicken dumpling soup. If he hadn’t known Nat was off on a week long mission, he’d have suspected it might come from her. A bit baffled, but in no place to turn down fresh homemade food, he rummaged around for a spoon that looked clean enough and started eating. Two bites in and Clint went just a tiny bit feral and wolfed the soup down with more energy than he’d had for anything in days.

Once he was done, the warmth of the soup in his belly made a strong case for going back to sleep. He managed to duck himself into the shower for a few listless minutes before drying off and crawling into bed. He was asleep only a moment after his face hit the pillow.

Another couple containers were left outside of his door at odd hours as he recovered. Each was similar to the last, a warm meal, clearly homemade, and wrapped in a small printed towel. Clint couldn’t be sure, but it certainly seemed that he got better much more quickly with some decent food in him. 

Once he felt decent enough to rejoin the world of other people, he washed the dishes and folded the towels neatly on top. He was going to use his spy skills to figure out who had been nice to him and try to stutter his way through a thank you. He wandered into the common room and he saw Steve immersed in a deep discussion with Sam, full of exaggerated hand gestures and throaty chuckles. Behind them in the kitchen area stood Bucky, what appeared to be an apron tied messily around his waist, humming softly to himself as he stirred something in a large pot on the stove.

Clint stopped a few steps in, the smell of chicken soup drifting to him. He must have made some kind of noise, because a moment later Bucky was turning to look at him with widened eyes… and a dusting of pink across his nose? Clint blinked slowly and watched as the tips of Bucky’s ears blushed too, and wasn’t that just the cutest thing. He realized he was staring dumbly at the other man when he heard snickers drifting from the couch. Steve and Sam were both watching them, some kind of knowing look passed between them before they quickly gathered themselves and left the room with a pleasant wave and a “Good to see you up, Hawkeye!” from Steve.

Clint definitely thought something was up, but he was un-caffeinated and couldn’t really stop himself from continuing into the kitchen and making a beeline for the coffee maker that was happily percolating away in the corner. The coffee was warm, and fresh, and made him feel that last bit better he needed. He set the little pile he had brought with him shyly near Bucky’s arm on the counter. Then he felt his own face heat when he realized he felt -shy-. Clint wasn’t really all that used to anyone doing things to take care of him, outside of Nat. Even she would do those things sporadically, like gestures of kindness didn’t come too easily to her.

“I.. uh.. thank you?” Clint knew he was muttering a little, and he only managed to meet Bucky’s eyes for a moment there, but at least the sentence kind of made it out of his mouth.

The grin that spread across Bucky’s face was warm and kind and all sorts of too much, but Clint couldn’t look away once he saw it. The two men thus far had an easy friendship, enough alike in their pasts to both be careful with one another, but not in the overly fragile way some people were. Clint had definitely thought his way through a scenario or two that led to something more between them, and seeing Bucky’s joy directed at him jostled something loose in his chest. Before he could say something probably dumb, Bucky turned back to the stove and ladled out a bowl of soup and shoved it into his hands.

“You’re welcome doll,” and wasn’t the shiver up Clint’s spine at the pet name eight kinds of revelation?, “Just wanted you to get better, got uh... tired of not seein’ you around.” 

“Oh! Um. Do you wanna watch some Dog Cops with me?” the words were falling out of Clint’s mouth before he really knew it, his hands tightened around the warm bowl in a slight panic.

Before he could work himself up, Bucky was smiling at him again, this time softer, “Course, it’s a date. I’ll grab us some blankets?” 

Clint just nodded a little frantically and hurried his way as carefully as he could to the overlarge couch that sprawled through the middle of the living room. By some miracle he spilled none of his soup and happily started in on the bowl. A couple minutes later, he set the bowl down and turned to see Bucky coming back into the room, arms completely weighed down with blankets and pillows. Clint could feel the blush working down his chest, it mixed pleasantly with the warmth of fresh food.

Bucky tossed the pile onto the couch and settled himself next to Clint, close but not quite touching, like he didn’t want to be too presumptuous. They both shuffled their way under blankets and arranged pillows to their liking. It took Clint a few minutes into the show to work up the courage, but eventually he let himself press up against Bucky’s side. A warm arm surrounded his shoulders almost immediately and he happily leaned his head onto Bucky’s metal shoulder. Clint lost the thread of the show entirely, his eyes drifting shut in comfort when Bucky started to rub slow circles into his upper back. They worked through a few episodes this way, only shifting now and then when Bucky seemed to want to rub another part of his shoulders or back.

Clint’s usual ramble of worried thoughts didn’t manage to make itself known, he was too deep into comfort and warmth and the feeling of someone taking care of him. Every bit of him felt loose and kind of fluffy, and Bucky’s body felt solid next to him. His last thought before he drifted to sleep was that maybe this time, being sick had been a little worth it.


End file.
